


100 Days To Be Mine

by lishiyo



Category: Thai Actor RPF, เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Mild is a Good Friend, Romantic Comedy, Slice of Life, The dating game show AU no one asked for, They dislike each other first because this is a romcom, sappy as all hell
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26172373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lishiyo/pseuds/lishiyo
Summary: New-college-grad and local area hothead Gulf Kanawut's not the romantic type and he's quite happy with that, thank you. So when he's dared to go on a dating show where all he has to do is not fall in love with the actor known as the Prince of Romcoms - Mew Suppasit, the Heartbreak King himself, in his comeback to showbiz - to win a million baht in 100 days, Gulf's pretty sure he's got this one clinched. Gulf's about as romantic as dishwater detergent and has zero plans to ever have to talk to people, so this'll be easy, right?Right??100% crack romcom AU in which Gulf discovers not the power of Christmas, but the other thing, and Mew discovers that it's not too late to fall into your own trap. Pure fluff and disaster.
Relationships: Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree/Win Metawin Opas-iamkajorn, Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong
Comments: 22
Kudos: 43





	100 Days To Be Mine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a TOTAL CRACKFIC of a romcom AU, inspired by Gulf joking "this question shouldn't be asked na krub" when yet another interviewer asked him whether he's romantic and Gulf's answer for the billionth time of course was no. So what if he's *really* mister unromantic, and ends up on a dating show where all he has to do to win the cash prize is NOT fall in love with the most eligible bachelor in Thailand, the handsome Prince of Romcoms who's making a surprise comeback to showbiz? Gulf has zero plans to ever fall in love, so that'll be easy right? Right???
> 
> This is my mental breather fic while writing my main fic (https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948915/chapters/63076408) which is heavy as all hell so I wanted a light and breezy sidefic. It's loose, riffy, and spectacularly unedited. Word of caution — I'm a huge Gulf stan but Gulf is definitely way more stubborn, impolite, and short-tempered than he is in real life in this fic. Just for comedy purposes I'm leaning into Mew's depiction of Gulf when they first met: someone who doesn't seem like the cute type (I mean Gulf's main things are soccer videogames and hard rap 😂) before Mew comes to discover that he has all these cute sides; someone who's pretty reserved and introverted and has a hot temper, whose walls took Mew time and care to take apart brick by brick. So this is fluff, but may not be fic for you if you want sweet baby kitten Gulf (at least at the start!), sorry 🥺

One of the things that Gulf likes most about Sundays is sleeping in: no class, no practice, and no vague sense of guilt about his Saturday night Switch marathon. He can wake up at three in the afternoon with a happy fuzzy feeling in his limbs, a gnawing hunger in his stomach knocking politely on the door, and an _actual_ knocking on his door that's less polite and is Bright yelling at Gulf to get out so he can have sex with his boyfriend. (Well that's not _quite_ how Bright puts it, but a blushing Win is somehow always there in the kitchen by the time Gulf drags himself out the shower and out the apartment, so dots, connected, pack up the bags Watson etc.)

That's why it really, really sucks to have to get up early. Worse, to get up early and _have them_ _not show up_.

Gulf has been stood up. 

"I think I've been stood up," he says out loud.

He's a little dazed. It's not until he says this aloud that Gulf realizes he was actually kind of looking forward to this one — the girl is one of Bright's classmates, one of those pretty hanger-ons who magically always appear to have notes, a Pocky stick, or a question about the assignment whenever Gulf's roommate turns up on the horizon, and Gulf didn't think much of her. But at the team's end-of-year party that he couldn't avoid — "if you make up a stomachache, I swear to god I'll throw your Lampard jersey off the balcony," Bright had growled, because Gulf hates loud parties and frat bro crowds, they're just excuses for people to be loud and drunk and god forbid _notice_ _him_ but apparently it's in the rulebook you have to get dumb-stupid-drunk at at least one rager before graduating college, and yeah okay maybe there was a tiny part of Gulf that was terrified of maybe ending his college days as a loser too — he'd been hiding by the back stairs nursing a beer. Collecting the same Pidgey in Pokemon Go over and over again, waiting for Bright to get smashed enough Gulf could take him home. And then she had poked her head in, giggling in a way that suggested this wasn't her first beer of the night either, and maybe (definitely) it was the alcohol, but she was an engineer doing a Videogame Design class and that was kind of cool and at some point in the night he had asked her out or something.

"Nong, if you don't go I've done all this Facebook stalking for nothing," Mild complains when Gulf tries to list out all the reasons he's not dating material and really shouldn't go on a date (reason number one: Gulf's heart already belongs to Eden Hazard, his man comes first okay). "Just _go_! And take my lucky keychain!"

"Need a lot more than luck, phi," Gulf mutters, putting the Hello Kitty keychain back in his jacket. 

Reason number infinity he forgot to add: dating _sucks_. Dating is stood-up dates in a crowded cafe on Sunday morning just for an uncomfortable chat that will probably lead nowhere. Dating is exhausting apps and expensive drinks and pretending to be a much more interesting, responsible, got-your-shit-together person than you actually are for the infinitesimal chance of stumbling on the person who wouldn't mind the real version.

It's not like Gulf is trying to find love or anything, it's just . . . he's not the player type. Not like some of his teammates, who seem happy to sample their way through half of Ratchada like a foodie on an anonymous-strangers tour or sit there on the bench swiping through Tinder with one thumb. Gulf isn't the judgy type but he doesn't get it, isn't that so much effort just to give up a LOT of sleep? 

_I'd *never* give up sleep for anyone_ , he thinks. Nope. Not you, Mister Nap. In fact, there's nothing more Gulf wants to do right now than curl up in his spot in the park, the one he figured out last summer and is still a little too satisfied about. Tucked behind a copse of shrubs in the far corner from the more scenic views, there's a small grove with a single wooden bench that's never occupied and is long enough to stretch out on. He's been there a hundred times and never seen anyone else there. Sometimes Gulf will take a blanket and camp out in the shade under the tree, headphones in, gazing at the butterflies as he tries to mouth along to YOUNGOHM.

It's peaceful, is what he means. Which is exactly what he needs right now, because everything feels kind of bad, like his stomach is uncomfortably tight and his legs want to move. He takes the check quickly with a sheepish wai at the waitress, like sitting here on his phone for forty-five minutes was his plan all along but duty calls, and moves out the cafe at warp speed. Gets to the park feeling a little better, and crawls into the grove with a bottle of Yakult and a sticky rice basil pork burger from 7-11. Conks out a little while later under the tree with a carb hangover. It's great.

Until he hears it.

" . . . the person I share this heart with, I promise I will never let anything hurt you . . . "

Someone's singing. 

"Do you hear that? My dear love."

 _What_ ? Gulf blinks. Sits up gingerly, still a little fuzzy-headed, mouth dry from the burger's saltiness. And sees him: a young-looking guy sitting on the bench — _Gulf's bench_ — hunched over a guitar and strumming it with a frown, as if in concentration.

_What — how —_

". . . and it must be fate. Because I knew when we first met, it had to be — "

"Um," Gulf says. 

That screeches the singing to a halt. The man looks up sharply, the shades on his head slipping a fraction, and his face relaxes into a slight smile.

"Ah. Sawadee krub. Sorry, I didn't think I'd wake you — it looked like you were sleeping pretty heavily there."

He has a deep voice. With the stylish haircut and casual denim jacket and cut jawline, the man looks like one of those local indie-band singers who drop by the bar Bright tries to drag Gulf to sometimes, the ones who probably have a day job they hate and aren't very good but are alright for the drink you pay them. He's more built than Gulf and weirdly good-looking for a rando in a park in an old-school movie-star kind of way, which is an odd thought to have but it's not every day you wake up to a strange man crooning a love song twelve feet away from you _in_ _your private place_.

"Um, yeah. I thought I was the only one who knew about this place," Gulf says, very intelligently, with an expression on his face that probably looks like it's deciding between fight, flight, or pooping its pants. Before remembering his manners. "Krub." 

"Yeah, I don't come too often," the guy replies, shrugging with his smile going wry. "But this is the most private spot I've found in the park. So I come here to practice sometimes, just to get away from the crowds krub." He glances up as if gesturing to some invisible spirit in the trees. 

"Ah," Gulf says. 

Silence.

It's ghastly, and it expands to fill up the space like a hot air balloon. This is so awkward Gulf wants to shed out of his skin like a snake and slither out of there even though Bright is probably doing terrible things to Win in their apartment right now. But also, like, what the hell? It was his spot first, didn't he get there first? Why does _he_ have to be the one to leave?

He stares at the patch of grass by his feet, feeling his ears tingling with warmth.

". . . so what's your name krub," the man says.

Oh no, small talk. Gulf's worst enemy, _we meet again_. He fidgets with the sticky mouth of his Yakult bottle, not looking up. "Gulf."

"Cool," the guy says, not sounding terribly put off by Gulf's curtness. "Do you come here a lot, Khun Gulf? It's nice isn't it?"

 _Khun_ ? Something about the way he says it sounds like the way his dad's friends talk to Gulf, like they're indulging a youngster, pattin' him on the back _you'll be a man too someday hurr_. Maybe this guy's bigger and more muscly but he's practically the same age as him, Gulf thinks, probably still in college too — he looks like one of those seniors with a dozen girls swarming them at that party, holding court with a bottle of Mekhong and an obnoxious laugh. Gulf is a little annoyed. 

"Yeah. I come here _all the time_. It's, like, practically _my place_."

"Mm," the man says thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "I get that. It's like an oasis in the city, right, especially with tourist season. Hard to find a patch of green around here. I'd nap here all the time too if I lived anywhere near the area."

"So what are you doing here?" It comes out a little more sharply than Gulf intended. "Are you like, a singer or something?"

"Kind of." The guy's mouth quirks as he holds up the guitar a little, as if showing it to Gulf. "Trying to be, is probably more accurate. I've been working on this song for a while, but it's not coming out right. It's too . . . I don't know how to say it, but cliche? More sappy than romantic."

"That's because it's a love song," Gulf says. "All love songs are sappy."

The man cocks his head. "Not your style?"

"No way krub _,_ " Gulf says, firmly. His current mood isn't helping but also this morning has really solidified it: love _sucks_. Just imagining saying lyrics like the ones the guy was singing with a straight face makes him want to crawl back under his blanket. Gulf knows he's the least romantic person ever — Mild's wrong that he's never had a girlfriend, he did have one back in high school where all you had to be was good at sports and tall and cute enough but Mild's right that Gulf's always been about as romantic as detergent — but seriously, imagine having to be with someone every day, having to buy them flowers, remember their anniversaries and give up your hobbies to become a Real Adult? Having to take care of someone for the rest of your life … Gulf can barely even take care of his own laundry. He once killed an airplant by leaving it on top of the air conditioner.

Gulf goes, "The whole of society is built on this idea that love is the greatest thing you can ever experience. Like it's the pinnacle of human achievement or something krub. Okay sure, but then according to the media like the romcoms and romance dramas and stuff, you're supposed to find the _one person_ out there who's your one true love. So what about those of us who don't find them, are we missing out on the most important part of life?"

Okay, that was kind of a rant. Gulf must be _really_ bottled up.

The man sets the guitar down beside him, idly shifting its neck. "I think you're being a little harsh on the media there," he says, looking up with an expression Gulf can't quite parse but seems more perplexed than irritated. "It's a fantasy, an escape from reality, not a reflection of it krub. I'd call it just another way of exploring what people want, and it just so happens that a lot of people want love."

"I don't," Gulf says.

That earns a raised eyebrow. "Really?"

"Nope," Gulf says, feeling a little more stubborn now at the man's show of skepticism. "I'm just not the type. I doubt if I'm even capable of falling in love, but that's fine for me."

"That's like saying you're not capable of eating or sleeping," the man drawls. "Call me a romantic, but I like to think that everyone's capable."

"Capable, maybe, but deserving? Maybe some people just aren't cut out for it."

"That's harsh," the man says, slowly, after a beat. His gaze slides away as he glances down at his guitar. 

Ok maybe that was a little harsh, Gulf thinks. _For a kid who doesn't talk much the temper comes out fast_ , mae always sighs. Gah. "I just mean, there are so many people out there who put in so much effort their entire lives to find that one person and they never do, and no one writes stories about _them_. It's totally unfair."

"Alright," the man says, crossing his arms as he leans back, stretching out his legs. His biceps visibly strain against the denim; he really is stupidly handsome. Disney prince handsome. "So because not everyone succeeds, you're not even going to try?" 

"No thanks krub. I'm perfectly happy on my own."

"Mm. That's sad. What made you so cynical?"

"Cynical?" Gah, Gulf can't stand people who look down on others for being different. This guy looks like a supermodel, he probably has girls flinging themselves at him just walking down the street. No wonder he thinks life is all sunshine and rainbows. Just because Gulf's not the type to run around talking to strangers and singing sappy love songs, doesn't mean he's unhappy.

He's not. He's really not.

"I'm not cynical," Gulf declares, crossing his own arms. "I'm just being honest. I'm not the romantic type, and if I'm going to be alone forever, who cares?"

Now a strange look crosses the man's face: a grin. "You know, I kinda want to make a bet on that."

Gulf scrunches his nose. "That someone will care?"

"That you'll be alone forever," the man chuckles. "Aren't you a little young to be making big statements like that?"

That's it. Gulf gets up inelegantly to his feet, like a deer with too much leg and most of it numb from passing out over a bag of junk food. He brushes crumbs off his jeans in quick irritated jerks. What was he even doing, having this convo with a stranger? And an arrogant one at that. "I think I'm perfectly capable of figuring out my life for myself, thank you. If romance isn't in it, then that's that. _Good bye_." 

The man calls out as Gulf yanks up his jacket, turns around, and immediately nearly stumbles over a root.

"Forever's a long time," he says.

***

The next few weeks pass by in a blur. Mild gives him a bit of sadface for getting stood up ("my poor baby", he cries, as if Gulf had his heart physically extracted and stomped on, instead of just ignored) and then for losing his Hello Kitty keychain (Gulf _had_ looked, he'd gone back to the park five times but it had almost certainly dropped on the sidewalk and now Gulf feels garbage and needs to figure out where people acquire lucky accessories). Graduation comes and goes and amidst the cheering he tries to keep his gaze on his parents' faces, tries to feed off the pride radiating off them in waves and not think about the hollow feeling in his chest: what was he going to do now? Was he ever going to see any of the guys on the team again? How was he going to get a job? The marketing internship that he was supposed to do had gone under because of the pandemic; with sports events on hiatus and bad cash flows, the company had finally gone bankrupt a week ago just when they were starting to come back online.

Which means Gulf spends most of his time doing job applications on his laptop now, while Mild sighs sympathetically about the terrible job market for new graduates and even Bright is oddly nice to him, doesn't even bring it up when Chelsea gets crushed by Spurs on the weekend. Well, most of his productive time that is. The rest of it is devoted to not having to get out of his pjs. He has a few nights in a row of staring deep into the bright abyss of his phone — no schedule anymore, yay — and is busy turning his island into Windsor Castle when Mild finally puts his foot down and drags him out for a drink.

"You're not even playing Free Fire anymore, G," Mild whispers, leaning over his Singha. "You're _decorating_."

"You say that like I'm doing drugs." Gulf taps rapidly through a speech bubble. "Animal Crossing is healthy, ok krub."

Mild swipes the phone off the tap before Gulf can react, dodging the latter's half-hearted attempt to grab it back. "Uh-uh. No more phone Gulf. We need to get you off the digital world, and outside into the real one. Look at all the stuff you could be doing right now!"

"Uh," Gulf says. Sweeps his gaze up to the tv, the bar, the cluster of deeply-unsober students loudly debating over whether a rice burger counts as a sandwich. Someone is having a birthday in the other corner and beside that group, there's another one of heavily-made-up girls making a night of it that's slowly merging into them like traffic, or an amoeba.

Mild smacks him on the arm. "Earth to Kanawut. You're hot! Just ask one of those girls out, a few of them have been staring at you all night!"

" _You_ ask them out," Gulf mutters.

"I'm _gay_ ," Mild sighs, smacking him on the arm again. 

"Yeah, well, maybe I am too." Gulf, who is definitely not pouting right now, sticks his chin on his hand and stares up determinedly at the tv. 

"Ai'Gulf, you're about as gay as my toaster. The very fact you haven't tried to get into Bright's pants even once in four years is proof of that."

"Well that's because I respect his relationship krub." The tv — _of course_ just when Gulf starts watching it — has switched to talking about some new reality tv dating show that looks horrendous. Pink hearts zip across the screen, followed by a burst of baht signs like fireworks as the announcer excitedly chatters something about the comeback of some actor. What _was_ this? Were they going to pay people to go on dates or something?

Another point for the "love is dumb" column, at least modern love. Aren't these all just games too, no different from the ones on his phone? It's all so . . . empty. 

" — are SO excited to announce the return of Mew Suppasit," the announcer is babbling. "It's been two years but we're certain the 'Prince of Romcoms', the man once said to be Thailand's most eligible bachelor, is even more handsome and charming than ever!"

"There's no one more perfect to headline this show, N'Puifai," the other announcer beams. "The _lakorn_ star is most famous for leaving behind a trail of broken hearts in his wake during his time on _Millionaire Darling_ . That's why the premise for _100 Days to Be Mine_ is causing quite the stir — it's a bet to woo a contestant in 100 days! Does anyone think he can do it, or rather, perhaps the better question is — does anyone think any of the contestants will be able to resist?"

" _Shai!_ I will say this though — the grand prize is impressive! Would _you_ say yes and turn down a million baht?"

As they giggle, Gulf loses track of what they're saying. Because someone has come on the screen.

It's him. 

That guy. The guy in the park. His hair's been slicked up a bit and his shirt's dressier, the collar wide open to show off his chest, and he's even better-looking now; the easy smile on his face from before is now a kind of flirtatious grin that's oozing charm and just a sliver of something dark, masculine, and potent. The interviewer looks like she's about to faint.

"I'm looking forward to the challenge," he's saying. "It's a battle between love or money, right?"

He's saying something about _gunning for team love_ blah blah, but the words pass through Gulf, because that's not all. 

Because right there, right on the phone he's holding in his damn hand, is Mild's lucky keychain.

****

**Author's Note:**

> \- Do folks actually want me to continue? This is entirely me spewing from the crack part of my brain when I'm procrastinating from work and taking a breather from https://archiveofourown.org/works/25948915/chapters/63076408, it's totally unplanned and I'm not sure if the premise or guilty pleasure part is actually interesting or pleasure to anyone else 😅 So thoughts, comments, suggestions etc all SUPER appreciated! :)  
> \- Yup, the song's lyrics are incorrect for a reason. Mew's still working on it!  
> \- I take Gulf as actually a *deeply* romantic person but in a different way than the classical depiction. That is, his love language just isn't in saying things like "I love you" all the time (which is probably why he denies he's romantic), it's more about his eyes and his actions and in the way he never rejects Mew's touch despite not being a touchy person. So please don't read this fic as me saying he's not romantic 😭 If anything, I hope this entire fic is about proving he is and one doth protest too much.  
> \- Hilariously, I've never seen a single episode of the Bachelor and have maybe seen three romcoms in my entire life, which really goes to show how strange plot bunnies are.  
> \- I'm @kanawhut1 on Twitter if anyone wants to ping me!


End file.
